Fault Lines
by RequiemForTheWolves
Summary: The hunter can't help but take note of how small Cas seems now, curled up against him, unobtrusive and unintimidating. It's a far cry from how the angel was when he first met him, busting in the old barn in the biggest power display he'd yet to see. Dean had really caused him to fall so, so far.


"_When Castiel first laid a hand on you in Hell he was_ lost!"

The words sting just as much as the first time he heard them, shouted by a concerned Hester after she saw what a mess they'd made of their angel. He immediately recoils when he hears it this time, once again in the distressed angel's voice as it rattles around inside his head. He recoils away from Castiel, before realizing what a stupid thing that is to do, as the angel is leaning against the door frame, clutching his stomach as blood seeps out from between his fingers.

"Cas? Cas!" In an instant Dean closes the few feet distance between them, his hand on Castiel's arm in attempt to keep the dark haired man upright. Cas only crumples under his touch though, letting out an anguished cry as he sinks to his knees. It takes a moment, just long enough for the sluggish liquid to seep through two layers of fabric that Dean realizes Cas is bleeding where he is touching him too. Immediately he removes his hand, flinching away in horror.

"_The very touch of you corrupts_!"

"Dean." His name is said as a moan, Castiel looking up at him with pained blue eyes as best as he can.

Dean breathes his friend's name in response, nearly out of his mind because he doesn't know what's wrong, or even what's happening, so he doesn't know how to fix it!

The first thing that comes to mind is to place a hand against Cas' cheek like he had done earlier that day, hoping it to be a comforting gesture for his bleeding friend. To his absolute horror though, it only makes things worse. Castiel's eyes widen, an ungodly noise escaping his lips as deep, purple bruises seem to spring from Dean's touch, discoloring nearly half of the angel's face and causing his nose to bleed.

Dean thinks he's going to be sick.

"_Castiel's going to die, and it will be all your fault_!"

* * *

When Dean wakes up he's gasping, hair and clothes sweat dampened and sticking to his body. The covers of his bed are tangled about his legs, and his pillow is somewhere on the other side of the room. Obviously the nightmare had had physical repercussions as well, instead of just mental.

When the hunter gets up his legs feel like jello, and he's _shaking_. He runs a hand over his face, trying to shake the dream off and pretend he's not hearing that last sentence in his head over and over again, stuck on a heart stopping repeat. His chest feels too tight, and it's obvious that if he wants to get any more sleep tonight that he's going to have to drown the images from his head in multiple bottles of hunter's helper. Even then he's not sure if he can face unconsciousness again.

It seems that his kitchen run is to be detoured though when he steps outside of his room to find Castiel, pajama clad with a large book of who knows what clutched in his hand.

"_Castiel is going to die, and it will be all your fault_!"

The word's memory pushes the breath from his lungs, forcing him to gasp in more as tears threaten to fall from his still tired eyes. Because here Castiel is, in the bunker where he's safe because at the moment he is just incredibly human, and oh, oh so broken.

And it's all his fault. Because from the moment Castiel laid a hand on him he fractured, and began falling apart. He kept falling and kept falling until finally he ended up here, as lowly a human as one of them and now hunted by all of his kind.

And Dean was the one who broke him.

Were it not only God knows when in the morning, things probably would have turned out different. Dean wouldn't be so controlled by such raw emotion and most likely wouldn't have done what he did. However, at the moment, and at the state of mind he's currently in, Dean holds no qualms with making his way over to Castiel and wrapping him up in a tight embrace.

Cas drops his book in surprise, standing there for a moment in confusion before his hands come to rest unsurely on his friend's back. "Dean?"

The hunter only squeezes tighter at the sound of his name, burying his face in Cas' shoulder as he repeats his mantra of, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry."

The ex-angel waits for a while, but eventually grabs at the taller man's arms, pulling out of the hug a bit so that he can turn a worried gaze on his friend. "Dean, what's wrong?"

It takes a moment for Dean to come back to himself, to realize what he's doing and how it would be considered incredibly out of character for him. He blinks a few times, trying to clear the mist of tears that have gathered there against his will. "Nothing, I just, uh…I've just been worried about you. I'm glad you're finally home."

It's obvious that Cas doesn't believe him; it's really quite funny how a man who is so dumbfounded by the way humans work can always seem to get a read on Dean. He nods anyways though, choosing to simply accept the answer. "I'm glad to be home. I have to say, nearly dying as a human really puts things in perspective. The bunker, which before was just a building to me, is now a safe haven. It's nice but…a bit scary at the same time."

"Yea." The hunter swallows, the memory of the ex-angel tied to a chair and bleeding from a wounded chest not one that sits well in his head. "How are your wounds by the way?"

"They'll be fine. The pain medication you gave me helped immensely. Though, I'll most likely always miss being able to heal myself instantly, and being able to heal others." It's said grimly, in regret, and Dean just wants to hug him again. Which he won't do, obviously, because Cas is suspicious of him enough as it is.

"Good, um…good. So, what are you doing still up? It's like, what, ass o'clock in the morning?" Yes Dean, change the subject, changing the subject is good.

"I've found falling asleep difficult since it's still so new a concept. The mechanics of it prove to be difficult. The harder I try, the more difficult it becomes. I've found the best way to do it is to simply stay awake until I pass out." Cas picks up his book as he says this, the binding of the ancient text thankfully not broken.

"Dude, that's not healthy. Besides, that's not how falling asleep works. The more you think about it the harder it becomes. The trick is to clear your head of everything."

Cas' brows furrow, confusion evident on his face. "How do you not think of anything? That's not how the human brain works, Dean."

The hunter can't help but chuckle, wrapping an arm around the ex-angel's shoulders as he leads him through the dark hallway and towards the kitchen. "Yea, okay. Well, lucky for you I've got a little trick to help you out."

* * *

It's later, when the two are sat on the couch together in the sitting room, that Dean's 'little trick' proves to work. Cas is passed out against his side, head nestled against his shoulder and breaths even. The brunette takes the near empty mug of warm milk from his friend's slack fingers gently, careful not to wake him now that he's finally getting some much needed rest. Dean hopes that it really is just a lack of practice that's keeping the ex-angel up and not insomnia or some shit. Dude's got enough problems as it is, and if he wants the wounds on his chest and around his wrists to heal any time soon then he needs to take care of himself, which in fact entitles far more sleep than he's been getting.

The hunter can't help but take note of how small Cas seems now, curled up against him, unobtrusive and unintimidating. It's a far cry from how the angel was when he first met him, busting in the old barn in the biggest power display he'd yet to see. He'd been so massive then, so powerful as he'd shown off his wingspan that seemed to take up nearly all of the space in the abandoned building.

Dean had really caused him to fall so, so far.

The elder Winchester sets Cas' mug down on the side table along with his own, the drink beginning to make him drowsy as well, despite his previous distress. Well, that and probably the fact that Cas is beside him, warm and soft and - …well not healthy, but healing at least. It's comforting, even if the body at his side is suddenly incredibly fragile.

Dean takes the chance to press his face against his friend's dark mess of hair, enjoying the fact that it's the smell of his own shampoo that clings to the tendrils. He could so easily fall asleep like this, he has the mind to, despite whatever Sam might think when he finds them in the morning. After the constant worrying it's just so nice having his angel by his side – because yes, despite everything he is _still_ Dean's angel – and it feels like he can finally relax.

Cas is _here_, broken, yes, but which of them isn't? It's Dean's fault that he's broken after all, so that means it's his job to protect him now. In the end it will probably be a good thing that the dream will linger in his memory for some time yet. It will be a constant reminder of why Dean's fighting as hard as he is, what he has to prevent from happening, and what he can't bear to lose.


End file.
